Teal'c in a Kilt
by Susan M. M
Summary: SG-1 takes Teal'c to his first Highland Games. A FanQ nominee for Best SG-1 Story.
1. An On-World Mission

**Standard fanfic disclaimer**that wouldn't last ten seconds in a court of law: these aren't my characters. I'm just borrowing them for um, er, typing practice. Yeah, that's it, typing practice. They will be returned to their original owners relatively undamaged, or at least suitably bandaged. This story was originally published in Redemption #12, and was a FanQ nominee for Best SG-1 Story. (I lost to the inimitable and prolific Sheila Paulson, noted _Sentinel, Ghostbusters, B7, Master, Rat Patrol_, _LOTR_, _Grimm, _etc. author.)

**Teal'c in a Kilt**

_Stargate SG-1_ (second season)

Susan M. M.

for Edward, _an duine agam _

Teal'c finished chewing and swallowing his Cocoa Krispies. As he reached for a packet of grape jelly to spread on his English muffin, he turned toward his best friend on this planet. "I have seen something I do not understand."

"Oh?" Lt. Col. Jack O'Neill was stirring brown sugar into his oatmeal. "What was that?"

"The MWR bulletin board had a sign up about discount tickets for the Highland Games. What are Highland Games?"

"Guys in skirts throwing telephone poles," O'Neill replied.

Captain Samantha Carter looked up from her yogurt. "It's called a kilt, not a skirt."

"What's MWR?" Dr. Daniel Jackson asked simultaneously.

"Morale, Welfare, and Recreation," O'Neill explained. He was a tall man in his late forties, with sandy brown hair that was beginning to go white. "They try to organize off-duty activities at a reasonable price, like discount tickets for Highland Games or the zoo. Things that are good, clean fun, so R & R isn't just," he lowered his voice, "I & I."

"Intercourse and Intoxication," Carter said before Daniel could ask.

"Off-duty Jaffa also engage in such activities," Teal'c informed them. "But I still do not know what Highland Games are."

"It's a cultural festival for people of Scottish descent." Daniel sipped his coffee. Although he was a civilian, he wore green fatigues, just like his companions. "In olden days, clans would gather in the Scottish highlands. There were competitions where each clan showed off the skills of their best warriors. Tossing a caber - which Jack called a telephone pole. Throwing hammers or heavy stones. Sword dancing. Races."

"Sword dancing?" Teal'c repeated.

"Nowadays, the emphasis is on the cultural aspects of Scottish heritage: music, dancing, traditional food and clothing," Daniel continued.

"I would see this," Teal'c announced.

"It's a Highland Games. You'd have to put up with bagpipes," O'Neill complained.

"I like bagpipes," Sam protested.

"What are bagpipes?" Teal'c asked.

"A musical instrument," Daniel said.

"That's a matter of opinion." O'Neill took another spoonful of oatmeal.

Teal'c raised one eyebrow. "I would see this sword dancing and hear these bagpipes."

"General Hammond might - "

"I have seen very little of your planet," Teal'c interrupted. "I would see this."

He sounded very determined.

"Indeed," O'Neill conceded.

**SG-1 SG-1 SG-1 SG-1**

O'Neill tapped at the half-open door. "Sir? You got a minute?"

"Come in, Colonel." General George Hammond sat behind an oak desk. "Is something wrong?"

"Well, sir, Teal'c has a request. I told him I'd ask, but I couldn't promise you'd say yes - security issues and all - but - "

"Would you get to the point, Colonel?" the middle-aged, balding general demanded.

"Teal'c wants to go to the Highland Games." O'Neill managed to get all nine syllables out in one breath. "I told him you'd probably have to say no, but - "

"The Long Peak Scottish-Irish Festival up in Estes Park?" Hammond asked.

"Uh, yeah." O'Neill was surprised by the question. It wasn't like there were seven or eight Highland Games in the area to choose from. At least, he didn't think there were. He was also surprised that the general knew the full name of the games and could rattle it off so easily.

"Of course he can go," the general declared. "He'll need you or Dr. Jackson to accompany him, of course."

O'Neill nodded.

"Come to think of it, it might be best if all of SG-1 accompanied him. Think of it as an on-world mission."

"An on-world mission, sir?"

"Going to the Highland Games will be good for Teal'c. Let him see some of this world at its best. You get the tickets from the MWR office, and I'll arrange for some funds for petty cash so you can get some shortbread and meat pies." Hammond returned his attention to his paperwork. Half a minute later, he looked up. "Dismissed, Colonel."

"Sir." O'Neill left the room, shaking his head. He just couldn't imagine Teal'c in a kilt.

**SG-1 SG-1 SG-1 SG-1**

The second weekend of September was bright and sunny. A cool breeze blew down off the mountains, keeping the sun from being too hot.

SG-1 had left their jackets in the car. All four were wearing blue jeans and T-shirts. Teal'c wore a baseball cap to hide the golden tattoo that marked him as the former First Prime of Apophis.

Carter glanced down at the program booklet. "What would we like to see first? Athletics, dancing, sheepherding exhibitions, music, what?"

"Well, we're hearing the bagpipes, as requested," O'Neill pointed out to Teal'c. The sound of the pipes had permeated the air since before they pulled into the parking lot. "So what's next, sword dancing or caber tossing?"

"Sword dancing," Teal'c decreed.

Carter checked the map in the program. "We need to go past the Glen of the Clans to get to the dance competitions." She wore a gray NASA T-shirt, which was covered with mathematical and scientific formulas, and the question, 'Just what part of' followed by twelve formulas (only two of which O'Neill could recognize or comprehend), and then 'don't you understand?' On the back, it said, 'It's only rocket science' and identified the formulas for escape velocity, Newton's second law of motion, etc.

Even with the explanations on back, O'Neill still couldn't understand the equations on the front. Nm = v/c; F = q x Ve + (Pe - Pa) x Ae; FD = C (v2 /2) x A. However, he had no complaints about the way she filled the T-shirt ... not that he was about to tell her that. The colonel may not have been a rocket scientist, but he wasn't that stupid. He himself wore an white T-shirt with the letters USAF on it in red, white, and blue striped letters.

Teal'c wore a plain black T-shirt. Daniel, however, had gotten more into the spirit of the day. His T-shirt showed Spock holding his fingers in a Vulcan salute, and the words '_saoghal fada is soirbheas'_ at the top, and the English translation 'live long and prosper' at the bottom.

Gaily colored tents stretched as far as the eye could see. Most were just poles and roofs without sides. Folding tables in the front of the tents were covered with pamphlets, posters, and flags. Plastic storage containers were under the tables. Folding chairs and more tables were in the back. Some of the larger tents had an additional tent or tents behind the main tent. Some had scale models on display - Dunvegan Castle for Clan MacLeod, Blair Atholl for Clan Murray. There were life-size cardboard cut-outs of Mel Gibson from _Braveheart_ at Clan Wallace and Liam Neeson from _Rob Roy_ at Clan MacGregor.

Teal'c turned his head from side to side, examining everything. The Celtic crosses on top of some tables, the toy Scottish terriers and stuffed Loch Ness monsters on others. Flags blowing in the wind: the Stars and Stripes, the blue and white St. Andrew's flag, the red lion on the yellow banner that theoretically should only be flown by Queen Elizabeth but hung from nearly half the clan tents, the Irish tricolor. Shortbread in bright red Walker's wrapping. Bowls of candy. Baskethilt swords.

"Mommy! Dog!" a little girl cried out in sheer terror.

"It's on a leash, Megan. It can't hurt you," her mother replied in a weary tone. "C'mon, we need to get to the clan tent."

The four looked to see what had frightened the little girl so much. Carter grinned when she saw the ferocious canine was a tiny West Highland White Terrier, no bigger than a toy poodle.

"Is correct spelling of such importance to the Scots?" Teal'c asked.

"Standardized spelling is a fairly modern invention. Most of these clans have two or three alternate spellings of their surnames," Daniel explained. "Why?"

"Nearly every tent has dictionary." Teal'c pointed to the large, dictionary-sized book on the nearest table, which was being used as a paperweight to hold down membership applications.

"That's not a dictionary. It's Black's_,_" O'Neill said.

" Black's?" Carter repeated.

" Black's Surnames of Scotland," O'Neill told her.

Carter looked up at O'Neill, a curious expression in her blue eyes. For someone who called a kilt a skirt and who openly doubted that the bagpipes were a musical instrument, the colonel knew enough about Highland Games to recognize a book nearly every clan tent had when he was too far away to read the cover.

The wind kicked up. At every clan tent, people rushed to grab papers that were blowing away. Bowls of Tootsie Rolls and stuffed Scottish terriers were pressed into service as makeshift paperweights. Hats blew off, and people ran chasing after them. Some of the clan tents started to blow away.

Teal'c and O'Neill saw that the nearest tent was being uprooted, and grabbed hold before the wind stole it away. Teal'c and O'Neill held it down as the clan tent cavaliers hammered the stakes back in, more securely this time.

"_Tapadh leibh_," a man in the blue and green Murray of Atholl kilt thanked them in mispronounced Gaelic.

" 'Preciate the help," added a man in blue jeans, wearing a black T-shirt with an embarrassingly well-endowed mermaid. "Have some M&Ms."

"M&Ms are our clan candy. Hi, Pamela Murray," a woman wearing a red kilted skirt in the Murray of Tullibardine tartan introduced herself. "The initials stand for Mars and Murrie. We also have cookies, if you're hungry." She gestured at molasses cookies shaped like thistles and red packages of Walker's Shortbread. She looked familiar, and after a moment Teal'c recognized her as the mother of the child who'd been frightened by the dog.

Carter and Daniel were at the Clan Fraser tent, helping two men - one in blue jeans and a T-shirt, one in a red Fraser of Lovat kilt and a Jacobite shirt -hold down the tent while a dark haired man in a RCMP uniform hammered the tent stakes back in.

"Thank you kindly," the Mountie told Carter and Daniel.

SG-1 continued walking through the Glen of the Clans. Teal'c glanced at each tent: clan societies, sister-city tents, Highland Heather Travel Agency, the Scottish-American Military Society, the Royal Scottish Country Dance Society. Unsure which questions to ask first, he said nothing.

When they reached the dance stage, five little girls in kilted skirts were dancing. None of them were above thirteen. A lone piper stood on the corner of the stage, playing "Mairi's Wedding." The judges sat behind a folding table. The audience was made up of parents and grandparents, either in folding chairs or sitting on the grass.

In the audience was General George Hammond. He was out of uniform, wearing khaki slacks and a white polo shirt with a clan crest for Clan Buchanan embroidered on the front. He saw them and waved.

SG-1 walked up to him and greeted him quietly.

"I see you made it safely."

"Yes, sir," O'Neill agreed.

"That's my granddaughter Tessa, the one in red." The general pointed to the second girl on the left, the one wearing a red velvet vest over a white blouse and a red and white plaid skirt. She held her arms high above her head and leapt nimbly from one foot to the other.

Teal'c glanced at the other dancers waiting for their turns. Most were girls dressed in a similar fashion to Tessa. None were out of high school. None were warriors. Indeed, he very much doubted that any of them were even in training to become warriors.

The girls danced circles around each other in a figure eight pattern. The music drew to a halt. They bowed to each other, then to the audience. The parents and grandparents applauded wildly. SG-1 clapped politely.

"I had hoped to see the sword dancing," Teal'c admitted.

Hammond checked a schedule. "That's not until eleven o'clock, at least not for the competition. I believe they're having a demonstration of different types of dancing on the main stage later. I'm not sure if that will include sword dancing or not."

SG-1 exchanged glances. None of them had anticipated a children's competition for the dancing, and general's granddaughter or not, none of them were very much interested.

Carter glanced at the program book. "Why don't we check out the caber toss, and maybe get some shortbread, then come back later?"

"The caber toss." Teal'c thought a moment, remembering. "That is what you described as throwing a telephone pole."

O'Neill nodded.

"Very well," Teal'c agreed.

"Okay by me," Daniel agreed, although no one had asked him.

"General, we'll see you later," O'Neill said.

General Hammond merely nodded a goodbye. SG-1 walked off. Checking the map, Carter directed them through the vendors' tents to get to the athletics field.


	2. Window Shopping and Caber Tossing

They strolled off, but began to stroll more slowly as they reached the colorful tents full of merchandise. Clothing vendors with kilts, kilt hose, tam o'shanters, baseball caps, T-shirts, and RenFaire garb. Jewelry stands, with cheap costume jewelry and expensive baubles. Bakers with scones, cookies, shortbread, Dundee cakes, and Irish soda bread.

Teal'c stopped to examine the weapons at one tent.

"That's a _sgian dubh_," Daniel pointed to a small knife. "Traditionally worn tucked into a sock."

Teal'c nodded. He had seen several kilted men using their socks as pockets: musicians with drumsticks tucked into their kilt hose, other men with packets of cigarettes in their hose.

"That's a dirk." Daniel indicated a longer blade. "Worn on a belt from the waist."

Teal'c picked up a dirk with a hilt carved from deer antler, topped with a yellow gem. Two pockets were in the black leather sheath, a matching fork and smaller knife tucked into the compartments. "Practical." He drew the blade and felt the edge. He frowned. "It is dull."

"These aren't weapons for fighting, more like costume jewelry, just for show," O'Neill said quietly. "You might be able to cut butter with these, but not much else."

"What is the point of a weapon just for show?" Teal'c set it back down on the table. He glanced at the swords: claymores, baskethilts, and two Japanese katanas. "These are also just for show?"

"Probably," O'Neill allowed.

Teal'c shook his head sadly. "A waste of good metal."

They followed Daniel and Carter to the next tent. Daniel was skimming through boxes of tapes and CDs, talking to Carter a mile a minute about bands that she had never heard of.

"Will you look at the selection here? They've got Clan an Drumma, Brother, Needfire, Uncle Hamish and the Hooligans -"

"Daniel. Breathe," O'Neill ordered.

"Sorry, just you don't normally find this much good Celtic rock in one place."

"Celtic rock?" Carter repeated. "I'd expect folk music in a place like this."

"Oh, they've got that, too." Daniel pointed to some of the CDs. "Alex Beaton, Heather Heywood, Cara Anne and the Minstrels, Men of Worth, the Browne Sisters and George -"

"Daniel, we can read," O'Neill reminded him, before the anthropologist could read aloud the name of every artist who had tapes and CDs for sale.

"Oh." Daniel stopped pointing at the Browne Sisters and George Cavanaugh's Castle Dangerous. The others did a little window shopping, looking at the tapes, CDs, videotapes, and DVDs, as Daniel chose three CDs to purchase. Most of the videos were travelogues, but some were about specific clans and others were movies set in Scotland: Greyfriars Bobby, Trainspotting, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie.

Carter wandered over to the next table. She never knew what to buy her niece and nephew for Christmas; she barely knew them. Maybe David or Lisa would like a stuffed Loch Ness Monster with a silly hat. There were also dolls dressed as Irish dancers and toy terriers. There were several children's books, but she wasn't honestly sure if either one was reading yet, or just being read to.

"Sam!"

Carter looked up as she heard a child joyously cry out her name. Seconds later, a blonde girl flung herself into Carter's arms. "Cassie." Carter tried to keep herself upright as Cassandra hugged her so enthusiastically that she nearly fell against the table.

"Jack, Daniel, Teal'c." Cassandra released Carter and hugged each of them in turn.

"Cassie, what did I tell you about running off?" Dr. Janet Fraiser walked up to them. Stargate Command's Chief Medical Officer wore a kilted skirt in the Fraser of Lovat tartan and a blue polo shirt with the Clan Fraser crest embroidered on the front.

"I wasn't running off. I was running to Sam," Cassandra explained. The twelve-year-old was the sole survivor of the planet Hanka, and had been rescued by SG-1.

Janet sighed. "It's a crowded place. Stay with me."

"Have you seen all the neat stuff they have for sale here?" Cassie asked, ignoring her adopted mother's admonitions. "Jewelry - Mom, can I get pierced ears? - and clothes, really fancy clothes, and books and music and cross-stitch kits." She paused for breath. "Mom says we need to look first, and then buy, in case the next tent over has the same thing at a better price."

O'Neill nodded. "That sounds sensible."

The six of them continued window shopping. Cassandra stopped at every jewelry counter, drooling at every necklace, brooch, bracelet, ring, and earring. It didn't matter if they were sterling silver, pewter, leather, or plastic, if it was jewelry, Cassandra wanted to see it. And buy it.

Janet got a lot of practice in saying no.

"Hey, Jack, look at this." Daniel held up a T-shirt that said "VFW: Vowels for Wales."

"Is it meant to be a joke?" Teal'c asked. "I do not understand."

"Well, to a linguist, it's funny," Daniel muttered under his breath.

Jack stepped closer to the table full of T-shirts. "What's worn under the kilt? Nothing, everything works just fine." He shook his head; that joke was older than he was. He glanced at the next shirt. "What do you get when you cross a four leaf clover with poison ivy? A rash of good luck."

"Hey, Sam, come look at this," Janet called. She held up a pink T-shirt with a picture of a woman driving a chariot, the reins in one hand and a spear in the other.

"Boadicea, warrior queen of the Iceni," Cassandra sounded out slowly.

"Boadicea," Daniel corrected her pronunciation. "She was a warrior who fought the Romans, long, long ago."

"Were the Romans like the G-," Cassandra corrected herself, "like the You-Know-Who?"

"Sort of. They were invaders," Carter said. "I like this. Which do you think looks better, the pink or the blue?"

"With your complexion, the blue," Janet told her. She sorted through the shirts, looking for one in the correct size. She smiled when she found one in her size, and another in Extra-Small for Cassandra. She and Carter reached into their purses for their wallets and bought matching blue Boadicea shirts.

O'Neill dragged Daniel away from a tent full of books, knowing they would never get anywhere if Daniel were permitted to crack open a single book. He dragged him away from the books and past a tent of matted photographs of Highland scenery and Edinburgh street scenes. The next tent was a little further away from the others, and had a wire pen on the grass next to it.

The hand-lettered sign on the pen said Colorado Border Collie Rescue Society. Five black and white dogs were penned inside. A boy about Cassandra's age reached over and opened the gate. Four dogs rushed out. One remained sleeping on the grass.

"Mommy! Dogs! Dogs!" a little girl screamed in panic. Megan Murray, who'd freaked out at the sight of a Westie on a leash earlier that morning, was again giving in to her canine-phobia.

The dogs immediately headed for her, curious to see what had her so upset.

The volunteers hurried to gather the dogs together. Carter and Cassandra went to help them.

"Benjamin Brian Murray!" his mother roared.

O'Neill shook his head. "Full name, you know he's in trouble."

Daniel nodded in agreement.

"Megan, calm down, the dogs won't hurt you," Pamela Murray told her. She didn't quite hide the exasperation in her voice.

Teal'c stepped between Megan and an especially friendly puppy. "You are safe," he informed her, his tone of voice completely deadpan.

A volunteer from the Border Collie Rescue Society scooped up the puppy in her arms and returned it to the holding pen.

Megan hugged Teal'c.

Pamela thanked him and apologized for Megan's behavior. Then she recognized them. "You helped when the wind tried to blow the tent away, didn't you?"

"That is correct," Teal'c acknowledged.

"Stop by the Clan Murray tent later. Help yourself to some shortbread or molasses cookies," she instructed. "Tell them I sent you."

"We shall," the Jaffa agreed. He had a prodigious sweet tooth, and Earth had many foods that permitted him to indulge it.

"Mom, can we adopt a dog?" Cassandra asked.

"We already have a dog," Janet reminded her.

"We've got room for another one."

"We're about to head for the main stage to see the sheepherding demonstrations. Did you want to come with us?" Janet asked.

"Maybe later," O'Neill replied. "Teal'c wants to go see the athletics."

"Okay, we'll catch up with you later," Janet said. Cassandra quickly hugged all of SG-1 before they walked off.

* * *

The four of them watched as a kilted athlete spun around. He released a round gray stone and threw it. His yellow and black "loud MacLeod" kilt whirled up, revealing Scooby-Doo shorts beneath.

"I thought they didn't wear anything under the kilt," Carter said.

"The athletes make an exception," Daniel told her. "This event is the precursor of the Olympic shot put. They use stones instead of steel balls."

A judge rushed out onto the field to measure how far the stone had gone. He called out a number to someone with a clipboard, who recorded it.

"Those things look heavy," O'Neill observed.

"Anywhere from sixteen to twenty-six pounds,"a middle-aged bystander told them. He wore blue jeans instead of a kilt, and a T-shirt that declared 'Andrew was a saint. I ain't.'

Another man stepped up to the starting point. He wore a green kilt in the Hunting Ross tartan. As he spun 'round, red Hawaiian shorts with white hibiscus flowers were revealed. Carter stifled a giggle.

He threw the stone. The judge recorded his results.

"Caber toss will be in ten minutes," a voice announced over the loudspeaker. "Caber toss in ten minutes."

The four of them spent the time waiting for the next event chatting quietly and people watching. Some of the games attendees wore RenFaire garb_. _Some of the men wore kilts_. _Most of the men and women wore blue jeans and T-shirts.A pipe and drum corps marched past, playing "Twa Recruitin' Sergeants." Snow-capped mountains loomed in the distance.

Three men brought out the caber. It was just short of twenty feet. The bark and branches had been removed, but it was basically a big log.

Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "They will throw that?"

O'Neill nodded.

"A task not easily done," Teal'c said, impressed.

"Nope," O'Neill agreed.

They watched as the first contestant, a big, beefy man in the blue and green kilt of Murray of Atholl picked up the caber and carefully braced it against his shoulder. He stepped back half a step, then forward, trying to keep his balance whilst holding the heavy pole with both hands. At 175 pounds, it weighed nearly as much as he did. Then he ran forward three steps and launched the caber up. It flew through the air, turning end over end as it flew. It landed on what had been its top, then fell to the ground. The crowd cheered.

"How do they measure a good throw?" Carter asked. "Is it height or distance or what?"

"It needs to turn in the air at least once," O'Neill surprised her by replying. "Distance counts, but the important thing is that it lands straight."

"A perfect throw is at twelve o'clock, with the top end nearest the tosser and the bottom end pointing away from them," a woman in RenFaire garb explained. "If it falls back toward the tosser, then they lose points. And if it doesn't make a complete turn, that loses points, too."

"Thanks," Carter said.

The woman in semi-medieval clothing eyed the caber on the ground. "About an eleven o'clock, I'd say."

They watched the next six tosses. The first one was exciting. The second was fascinating. The third was interesting. By the sixth one, it was 'you've seen one caber toss, you've seen 'em all.' Carter checked her watch and suggested getting back to the dance competition.


	3. Jolrekar

They returned to the dance stage just as the competition was starting. Two teenaged girls stood on the stage. Each stood behind a pair of swords lying on the wooden floor, crossed to form an X. The girls bowed. As the bagpiper played, the girls first danced behind the swords, then to the side of them, then in front of them, and then to the other side. Teal'c frowned. Although they moved with dexterity and grace, they stayed a good foot away from the blades. As the swords for sale had been only for show, so these blades, too, appeared to be mere decorations, stage props rather than weapons.

They leapt. They kicked. They whirled. And as the dance continued, they moved closer to the blades, so that they were actually dancing within the four quarters of the spaces between the swords. Teal'c found himself caught up in the dance, despite himself. Ankles stretched and toes landed deftly between the blades. The tempo of the music increased, and the dancers sped up. At last the dancers wound up behind the swords again. The piper blew one last long note and ended the song. The dancers bowed to the audience. Teal'c had to stop himself from bowing back.

"A children's competition now, but one can see its warrior roots," he acknowledged. At his insistence, they stayed until all the sword dancers had performed, before going off to find lunch.

* * *

O'Neill took the long way around to the food vendors. The short cut would have meant going past the children's games area. As much as he loved Cassie, he didn't think he could bear to see her tossing a cardboard caber when Charlie would never throw one again.

"Four meat pies, four bags of chips, and," O'Neill turned to face his team. "Did you want to try Irn-Bru or did you want regular soda?"

"What's Irn-Bru?" Carter asked.

"Scottish soda. Orange colored, sort of citrusy. It's an acquired taste; it has a bit of an aftertaste," he warned her.

"I think I'll stick with Diet Coke," she said.

"Sprite," Teal'c requested.

"I'll give it a try," Daniel volunteered.

"Regular chips or salt-and-vinegar?" the food vendor asked.

"Regular," O'Neill and Carter replied in unison.

"Salt-and-vinegar," Daniel said simultaneously.

"Four meat pies, three regular bags of chips, one bag salt-and-vinegar, two Irn-Brus, a Diet Coke, and a Sprite," O'Neill ordered. He pulled two twenties out of his wallet, and got a depressingly small amount of change back.

Carter looked askance at Daniel's potato chips. "You actually eat those things?"

Daniel grinned. "Salt-and-vinegar chips, the snack you only get asked to share once."

They took their lunch to the main stage, where a folk singer was performing. They sat in the bleachers, listening and eating.

_"Ye Highlands and ye Lowlands,  
__Oh, where have you been?  
__They have slain the Earl O' Moray  
__And laid him on the green."_

"This song, 'The Bonnie Earl of Moray,' is the source for the term mondegreen, for when a phrase in a song or poem is misheard," Daniel started to explain. "It comes from an essay by Sylvia Wright, who thought 'laid him on the green' was Lady Monde-"

"Be silent, Daniel Jackson. I would hear this," Teal'c ordered.

_"Wha will be a traitor knave?  
__Wha can fill a coward's grave?  
__Wha sae base as be a slave?  
__Let him turn, and flee!"_

"This is one of Robert Burns' most famous songs. It's about Robert the Bruce addressing his troops before the Battle of Bannockburn," Daniel said.

"Hush," Teal'c whispered.

_"To the lords o' convention 'twas Claverhouse spoke_  
_E'er the king's crown go down there are crowns to be broke._  
_So let each cavalier who loves honor and me_  
_Come follow the bonnets o' Bonnie Dundee."_

"Bonnie Dundee was the nickname of the Viscount of Claverhouse, who fought in -"

Teal'c interrupted him. "Daniel Jackson, this is not a time for explaining. This is a time for listening." Teal'c paused a moment, then announced approvingly, "These are warriors' songs."

O'Neill thought a moment about the song currently being sung, and the songs that had come before it. 'The Bonnie Earl of Moray,' 'Donald Macgillavry,' 'Scots Wha Hae,' 'Gallant Murray,' 'Bonnie Dundee.'Yep, definitely warriors' songs.

* * *

After the performance, Teal'c insisted on returning to the vendors' tents to purchase some CDs of the "warriors' songs." The vendors' area was crowded, with shoppers bumping into each other as they looked over Caledonian paraphernalia of every sort imaginable. Several children, including Cassie, were in line at the face painting booth. She waved at SG-1 as they went past.

A pickpocket reached into an old lady's purse. It wasn't zipped shut all the way. He grabbed her wallet and started to stroll off in the opposite direction.

Teal'c took three quick steps, caught up with him, grabbed him, and lifted him off the ground.

"Hey, man, what are you doing?" the thief squealed in panic.

"O'Neill, stop that woman." Teal'c jutted his chin in her direction. "This _jolrekar_ has taken something that does not belong to him.

Several kids - including Ben and Megan Murray and Cassie Fraiser - gathered round to ooh and aah at Teal'c's strength. The thief struggled, kicking out.

"Let go of me!" The thief swore vigorously.

The old woman whose wallet he had stolen shook her finger in his face. "Shame on you, using language like that in public."

Teal'c held him a little further from his body. The thief struggled, but could not escape. He kicked Ben's snowcone onto Teal'c, soaking his shirt with blue raspberry ice crystals. Teal'c said nothing.

Two sheriff's deputies hurried up. One pulled out a pair of handcuffs before gesturing to Teal'c to let him down.

"Lemme go! I didn't do nothing!"

"Your grammar is as bad as your vocabulary," the old woman scolded. "Or your manners."

Patting him down, the deputies found no weapons on his person, but several wallets not his own. They thanked Teal'c and took the thief into custody.

"What about him?" The thief glared at Teal'c. "Aren't you going to arrest him for manhandling me? He picked me up and shook me like a ragdoll!"

"He picked him up like he was Hercules!" Ben marveled.

O'Neill pulled a business card out of his wallet and handed it to one of the deputies. "He's foreign military, on an exchange program with our Air Force. Both the Pentagon and the State Department would prefer if his official involvement could be kept to a minimum."

The deputy nodded. The multiple wallets should be enough to guarantee a conviction. "We'll call you if we need a statement. Otherwise ..." He shrugged.

The two deputies led the thief and his victim off. The thief was still swearing. The old lady was still scolding him for his blue language.

"Ben, Megan, are you hurt?" Pamela Murray asked. When the kids shook their heads, she looked Teal'c up and down. "You are a mess and a half. Come back with me to the clan tent, we'll get you cleaned up."

Teal'c tried to defer, but Pamela wouldn't take no for an answer. She insisted on Teal'c coming to the clan tent. The other three members of SG-1 followed. Pamela sorted through a plastic bin of T-shirts until she found a cream-colored XL shirt with a picture of a sword-wielding kilted warrior on the back. The front was blank, except for a clan crest logo above the heart.

"You need to get cleaned up and changed. Good thing about being male is you can go behind the clan tent to peel off your shirt. A woman would need to go to the bathrooms, and those port-a-potties don't give you much room to maneuver." She handed him some paper towels.

Daniel and Jack went with him. They positioned themselves to form a living shield so no one could see Teal'c's pouch. The pouch looked like a St. Andrew's cross cut into his stomach, but never allowed to heal. It was the home of the larval goa'uld that gave the Jaffa his superhuman strength and longevity.

Once Teal'c had changed his shirt, they returned to the clan tent. Sam sat in one of the folding chairs, nibbling shortbread as she waited.

Pamela said, "It looks very handsome on you. For bad things, they say once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action. For good things, thrice a Samaritan is a temporary, honorary member of the clan." Before he could protest, she gave him a hug. "Welcome to Clan Murray."

Teal'c pointed out, "I am not Scottish."

"Everybody's part Scottish, if you trace back far enough," Pamela told him.

Teal'c did not think this to be true in his case, but he did not wish to be discourteous. He gave her a half-bow. "I am honored ... clanswoman."

* * *

**Epilogue**

The cold November wind blew the dry leaves down the street. Two members of SG-1 knocked at the door of a house in a quiet Colorado Springs neighborhood.

"I'm Jack O'Neill," the colonel introduced himself. He didn't give his rank, since he was out of uniform and undercover. He glanced back at his companion, a big Black man in civilian clothes, wearing a Stetson hat to cover the gold tattoo that was his mark of honor as the former First Prime of Apophis. "This is -"

"Murray," Teal'c introduced himself.

* * *

**Author's Note: **all song lyrics quoted herein are in public domain.


End file.
